


The Darkness That Leads to Remembrance

by writtenthroughtime



Series: WTT's Posts for ImagineClaireandJamie [4]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Endlessly Spin-Off, F/M, Fanfiction, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 16:08:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenthroughtime/pseuds/writtenthroughtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>suhailauniverse asked: Imagine Sir Fletcher grants Claire's request to see Jamie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Darkness That Leads to Remembrance

The halls were dark and suffocatingly small due to the narrow, unlit, grimy stone. The space becoming even smaller with the help of the fog of rotting man stench wafting from every crevice—Wentworth Prison was not a place I wished to spend more time than necessary in. Sir Fletcher led me down the corridors, deeper into the prison, moans and screams echoing and surrounding me, causing my heart and stomach to drop.

“Dear God, please let Jamie be unharmed,” I silently prayed. I could not bear it if he too, were one of the men wasting away into nothing. 

Down multiple flights of stairs and through a set of barred inner dungeon-like gates, Sir Fletcher finally stopped by an already opened cell door. He was nervously twitching as his hands knotted themselves together.

“I must warn you Madam that the criminal in here is in isolation for a reason.” He paused, quickly made what looked like the sign of the cross on his chest and continued. “This man is very dangerous indeed, so please take caution whilst you are in his presence. I know you said you knew his family, and at one time the man, but people do change Miss. Collect enough statements for a letter to his ailing mother and see yourself out.”

Sir Fletcher bowed, extended an arm directing me towards the opened cell door. I squared my shoulders, nodding and blinking back the tears that were stinging at my eyes. With determination, I entered the cell. Sir Fletcher stood to the side, not making move to follow after me. I quirked an eyebrow.

“I—I’ll just leave the two of you alone. I’ll meet you again at the staircase,” he stuttered out, turning to leave. Turning around as he was halfway down the hall his face etched in concern. “Do be careful.”

My hands shook as I fully entered the poorly lit cell, every fiber of my being split between wanting to run away as fast as I could and running into the cell with equal swiftness.

Sprawled out on the ground in a lump of dirty cloth and puddles of his own feces, was Jamie.

Losing all composure, I ran to him and pulled his upper body onto my lap. Tears streamed ceaselessly down my face. 

“What have they done to you?” I wept and touched my forehead to his. The once vibrant soft curls of his hair matted down onto his forehead from sweat, muck and grime of the prison. 

With unsteady hands, I stroked his face, willing his eyes to open and his voice to be heard. 

“Please,” I begged him. “Please. Please. Please.”

The words were a steady chant as I rocked forward and backward, never letting my hold on him slacken. 

Several minutes or hours could have passed in the time I spent rocking and wishing for Jamie to come back to me. My tears were dripping onto his face, revealing how dirty he truly was. Gently I began brushing the dirt from his cheeks, eyes, nose and lips. While holding his face, I could hear angry shouts from the corridor where Sir Fletcher awaited my return. Unsure of what was to come, I started patting his face. 

“Jamie? Jamie, please open your eyes and look at me.” My voice was desperate. “Please, Jamie, my love, just open your eyes.”

“Sorcha?” Jamie’s weak voice rasped out, and relief seeped through my bones. He tenderly—rather, he weakly—touched my face, brushing the river of tears from my face. 

“Mo Sorcha. Mo Dhachaidh. Tha gaol agam ort.” He reverently whispered, voice cracking on the final syllable.

“Shhh, my love, I’m here.” I comforted, clutching his hand closer to my cheek. 

“Is tù gaol mo chridhe .”

“I-I-I don’t know what you are saying, Jamie. Please…” I began to sob as he continued his speech in Gaelic. His eyebrows creased in concern and a feeble shake of his head told me he did not understand why I was crying. The hand I held twitched, attempting to be free and rub the tears from my face, which only his thumb was accomplishing. 

“Buin mo chridhe dhuit, Sorcha.” His own tears began to fall, the longer he stared at me.

“I need to get you—” The door to the cell slammed closed, startled me, and broke my attention from the one who desperately needed it. 

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises, Mrs. Fraser,” the cold sneer of Black Jack Randall spoke. 

I watched as he stalked closer. I tried to position myself to where Jamie was shielded behind me, protecting him from even a side glance from the vile monster before us.

Black Jack stalked over towards us, circling in the way only a vulture could—his prey the only thing on his mind. 

“Tell me Madam, how did you manage to get in here?” His question may have been directed at me, but his sights were only on Jamie. 

“It’s really none of your business how I came to be here,” I spat out, venom lacing every syllable. 

“That’s where you are wrong,” he stated, crouching down to look me in the eyes for the first time. “You see, as commanding officer, I alone have the authority here, not the weakling who went cowering down the hall with the slightest of spats.” 

Randall reached out and grabbed a stray curl from the side of my face; I flinched involuntarily. He smirked, seemingly pleased with my reaction. 

“You’re going to regret that.” He whispered, his voice gone husky. He was taking pleasure out of the fear, the hatred, and the despair that clouded the room. 

Without warning he grabbed my shoulders and tossed me hard to the side. A roar of anger filled the cell. Jamie was straining against his bonds—feral, enraged, deadly—the warrior in him aching to be let free. 

Pain laced up the side of my arm; my shoulder wasn’t dislocated, but throbbed with my pulsing blood. 

“Ah, ah, ahh,” Randall cooed, pulling a pistol from his belt and aiming it at me. Jamie fought harder to break free. “If you continue to struggle, I’ll shoot her here and now.”

Masking the dread on my face did not work as well as I wanted it to. Jamie’s face drained of color and his struggling ceased. 

“Good. Do as I say and she will live,” Randall cocked the gun and aimed at my chest. “Maybe.”

“No!” I whispered, my voice rough and pleading. 

Jamie lowered his head. “Dinna harm her.”

“What was that? Sorry, I don’t speak barbarian,” Black Jack smiled, and his left eyebrow raised in mirth. 

“Dinna harm her! Take me instead.” Jamie looked to me then back at Randall, his own form of pleading to listen to him. 

“Take you instead? And what would you do if I spared her life? Would you beg…hmm? Would you do everything I wished?” The gun still aimed at my chest, he moved closer to Jamie, head swiveling from side to side in study. “Well?”

“Aye. I’ll do as ye say, just dinna harm her. She is innocent in all of this, let her be.” 

“Shall you show me a sign of good faith? A test as it were?” 

Jamie nodded jerkily in agreement. 

“Perfect. Place you hand on the table,” Black Jack commanded. On uneasy legs, Jamie stumbled his way to the small table and placed it flat, palm down on the battered wood. 

Randall tsked, “Other way.”

Squinting his eyes shut, Jamie flipped his hand over exposing the tender flesh of his palm to the room. Seeing this Black Jack smiled, uncocked the gun and marched over to him. He grabbed Jamie’s chin, pulling it up so that he could study his eyes. “Stay put.”

As soon as Randall left the room, I flew over to Jamie, hugging him to me. 

“Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this!” I sobbed into his shoulder. 

“Shhh… mo graidh. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe,” he whispered, his emotions raw. 

“No, please. No!” I buried my face into his dirty curls, wanting to pull him away with me. 

“Isn’t this touching? I’m afraid Madam that you have outstayed your welcome.” Randall sneered, walking over to me and gripping my injured shoulder. I let out a hiss. 

“Oh, that hurt? That’s nothing! Perhaps you can stay for a few more minutes, to see what real pain is.” Before I could blink, Randall hand a nail pressed against Jamie’s hand and the other arm raised with a hammer. 

“No! Jamie!” I screamed. “Jamie!”

My eyes flew open. The room was small, covered in pink floral wallpaper, a portrait of Bonnie Prince Charlie staring down at me. It was a dream. A very vivid and lifelike dream. 

My shoulder ached with the phantom injury that occurred in that awful dungeon cell. The weight of an arm was wrapped around my waist, anchoring me to the bed. Looking over, the monster from my dream was there. 

Screaming, I kicked the vile man out of the bed and fled to the other side of the room.

“Ooft. Claire?” The voice was the same as the monster but something more gentle shone through. 

“Get back!” I screamed. 

“Claire, what is going on?” I plastered myself to the wall, willing myself to be able to fall through it. With each step the monster took, the more I looked for an escape. 

“What do you want from me?” I said, trying to distract the man long enough to escape. 

“What do I want—? Claire, have you hit your head?” The man grabbed my arms and I flinched, turning my head away from his. 

“Claire! Look at me!” I slowly turned to look at the monster before me. “I’m your husband, I’m not after you! What is going on?”

Husband. Jamie. Husband…This was not—oh, but he was my husband. “Frank?”

Relief showed on his face and he pulled me in for a hug. I gently pat his back, wondering how this was happening. 

“That must have been some nightmare. No more wine before bed for you. This hallucination of not knowing who I am…it worries me.” 

I touched my forehead, in confusion. How was I here? Where was Jamie? 

“I’m sorry. Yes, I must have had too much to drink before bed.” I faked a smile and extracted myself from his arms and in a daze found my suitcase. “I’m not feeling well. I believe I’m going to go for a walk.”

“A walk? At this time of night! Claire, what has gotten into you?” Frank moved to stop me, but I put a hand out. 

“Yes, a walk. I need to clear my mind. I think the war has finally gotten to me and I need to sort things out.” 

Frank’s brow wrinkled, but he reluctantly nodded. “Fine, but do be careful.” 

Dressing in the first things my hands touched, I flew from the building, eager to find something that could explain what happened. 

The previous day’s newspaper lay in the bin on the street corner. 24 May 1945. I was back, but how?

I dropped the paper back in the bin and took off at a sprint for Craig Na Dun. Eight kilometers later, extremely out of breath and shaken, I found myself back where it all began. The buzz was still just as strong, just as compelling. 

Without hesitation, I touched the stones. 

The pain from the stones was an afterthought as I stumbled down the hill into the Scottish wilderness. 

It was different from before; the sounds of battle nowhere to be heard. Did I not make it back to the right time?

My breathing became fast and shallow. Where was Jamie? 

I began to run in the direction of the cabin where he was the first time I met him. I had to find him. I just had to. 

I searched from side to side and behind as I ran. He had to be nearby, he just had to be. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was headed when I stumbled over something I assumed to be a log, until it made a groan. Quickly, I turned around and looked down to see the short messy curls of James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. 

“Jamie!” I breathed out in relief and lunged into his lap. 

“Aye, lass. That is my name, and who might you be?” 

My heart sank and I looked up into his eyes, tears already beginning to fall. “You don’t remember me?”

He began to shake his head, but stopped suddenly, eyes going wide. His hand shakily came up to touch my face. 

“Sassenach?”

I sobbed and clutched his hand closer to my face, turning slightly to kiss the palm—where last I saw—a nail had be driven through. 

Pulling me close, Jamie cried out, “Christ in Heaven! Mo nighean donn, ye’re here!”


End file.
